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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22386496">don't bake it lying down</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexSeanchai/pseuds/AlexSeanchai'>AlexSeanchai</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miraculous Ladybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Guardian Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Marichat | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Podfic Welcome, Post-Reveal Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Protective Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Sexual Harassment</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 17:53:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22386496</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexSeanchai/pseuds/AlexSeanchai</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with not being Ladybug 24/7/365 was Ladybug could have punched him already.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adrien Agreste &amp; Félix Graham de Vanily, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1004</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>don't bake it lying down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/norakwami/gifts">norakwami</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>GODDAMNIT NORA</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bakery door jingled open; Marinette looked up from her physics text. Adrien was—</p><p>—looking at her with narrowed eyes and a wrinkled nose. Not an expression Adrien wore when looking at Marinette. Ever. And was the hair a bit too short? Definitely Adrien's own black tee, though; she knew very well the forest green stitching at the collar was <em>not</em> a Gabriel-authorized addition—</p><p>Not enough information. "Hey!" she said with extra cheer. "What can I help you with?"</p><p>"I'd like a taste of the sweetest thing here," said Not-Adrien—approaching the counter with too much confidence, his voice a touch too flat. The other customer, a business-suited man Marinette vaguely recognized, gave them both half a disdainful glance and went back to perusing the macaron flavors.</p><p>Oh, joy. Less likely to be a doppelgänger akuma, at least? But that didn't rule out mind control akuma, nor Adrien's jackass cousin here for a visit… "Today we have tiramisu," Marinette said with a plastered-on smile, getting her phone out of her pocket under cover of the counter, "and there's éclairs or opera cake?"</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><i>Lady Maladroit:</i> <span>🥐🥧</span> how close?</p>
</blockquote><p>Not-Adrien leaned over the counter, smirking. "Oh, that's not what I meant."</p><p>Marinette's phone dinged. "Hang on, please," she told Not-Adrien, letting him see her get the phone out and angling the screen so he couldn't see the—</p><p>"What language even <em>is</em> this?" asked Not-Adrien sourly.</p><p>She jerked the phone back out of his reach. The truth was 'not your business'—everything Not-Adrien could see should be random lines from the <i>Chǔcí</i>, since people tended to recognize lorem ipsum—and that he needed to ask about the characters said something in itself. "Cāngshǔ," Marinette told him.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p><i>Catalexis:</i> I'm nearby. problem?</p>
  <p><i>Lady Maladroit:</i> not adri</p>
</blockquote><p>Not-Adrien pulled the phone right out of her hand, thumping it face down on the counter and leaving his hand there. "Oh, where you're from." If that wasn't supposed to be the seductive smolder from a thousand rom-coms, she'd eat his overshirt. "Is that right, sweetheart?"</p><p>"I'm not your sweetheart," Marinette told him, leaning away and letting her tone chill a few degrees. The businessman seemed now to pointedly <em>not</em> be paying attention. "And you're thinking of Jiēgǔmù." Not-Adrien added a bit more twist to his smile. "That's my phone," continued Marinette, "do you mind—?"</p><p>"You shouldn't be on your phone when there's customers to serve," said the businessman without looking over. "I have half a mind to speak to your manager."</p><p>Well, he clearly wasn't here often enough to recognize Marinette—and if Maman or Papa were around, Marinette would <em>invite</em> him to speak to her manager, but the movie they'd wanted to see had sold out all the nearby and conveniently timed showings and they were probably two-thirds through right now—and he equally clearly wasn't going to have Marinette's back.</p><p>The problem with not being Ladybug 24/7/365 was Ladybug could have punched Not-Adrien already.</p><p>"I'll be sure to relay your feedback," Marinette told the businessman instead, still firmly polite, and swiped her phone back from under Not-Adrien's hand. She just had to type two more letters and send—</p><p>Not-Adrien caught her wrist left-handed. "I'm interested in an éclair, sweetheart," he said pleasantly. "Get me the one with the most—glaze."</p><p>Marinette tugged against his grip. She could break free easily, of course, but he was holding her firmly enough that a lot of people wouldn't be able to, or only by hurting themselves in the process. And this still might be an akuma or an akuma minion who could tell Hawkmoth Marinette was stronger than she looked—maybe suspiciously so. She tugged again; he let go.</p><p>Of course, actually <em>getting</em> the éclair for him meant leaving the (admittedly dubious) shelter of the counter—</p><p>The door jingled open. "Marinette!" proclaimed Chat Noir, arms flung wide. "Best of bakers!"</p><p>Oh thank all that was holy.</p><p>(And hopefully he really had been nearby, and would neither get in trouble for misplacing his civilian self nor be speculated about on social media for noticeably hurrying to the scene of what was likely a mundane everyday problem.)</p><p>Not-Adrien, with an eyeroll and a hardening expression, made way for Chat Noir to head for the counter; the businessman angled himself out of the way with a pleasant smile. Marinette tucked her phone back in her pocket. "What can I do for you, Chat Noir?"</p><p>"I'm not sure," Chat Noir said cheerily, resting both hands on the edge of the counter and leaning his weight there. "Cheesecake, maybe, or some of your famous passionfruit macarons—of course you know you're the sweetest thing in the pâtisserie—" He eyed her changing expression and pivoted to the businessman and Not-Adrien, folding his arms and leaning back on the edge of the counter again in a way that Marinette knew, however little the others seemed to notice, meant <i>I don't plan to hurt you right now, but that doesn't mean I don't want to</i>. "Okay, which of you two decided today's a good day to bother her?"</p><p>The businessman swallowed hard under what was doubtless one of Chat Noir's friendlier <i>go on, make my day</i> glares. "Mademoiselle, I don't see any passionfruit macarons—?"</p><p>"There's none for sale today," Marinette told him, which wasn't a lie, adding "I'm sorry," which was. "May I recommend the lime?"</p><p>Not-Adrien snickered. "Not lemon?"</p><p>Chat Noir took two steps toward him, his tail lashing, unfolding his arms. "I feel like you're getting at something, Graham de Vanily."</p><p>"—Who?"</p><p>Marinette rolled her eyes, coming out from behind the counter. She could probably still get the businessman's sale at this point, but it might take a little more work. " 'Play dumb, Miles.' "</p><p>" 'Not <em>that</em> dumb,' " Chat Noir finished at once. "I know it's you, asshole, and you'd better hope your cousin doesn't notice you stole this particular shirt."</p><p>"What, this rag?" Not-Adrien—who must indeed be Félix Graham de Vanily; Chat Noir wouldn't sound so certain otherwise—cut a glance toward Marinette. "I don't know what you're talking about."</p><p>"Of course not," Marinette said with lightly exaggerated sincerity. "You didn't restyle your hair closer to your cousin's, the clothes you're wearing are from a <i>Gabriel</i> outlet and not his get-lost-in-Narnia closet—" (Chat Noir bit back a laugh.) "—and you absolutely did not just march straight up to—someone who knows him—and admit you can't read Chinese characters and you don't know cāngshǔ from jiēgǔmù."</p><p>Chat Noir's ears and tail perked up. "Marinette, you <em>didn't</em>," he said in tones of awe.</p><p>"That was after he asked for a taste of the sweetest thing here," Marinette continued, "and then said he meant none of the pastries. And <em>before</em> he leaned into my personal space, grabbed my wrist, and started on more explicit bakery-themed innuendo. The gentleman here can confirm."</p><p>"I don't care to be involved in others' personal disputes," said the gentleman in question, nervously eyeing Chat Noir's flattening ears, and escaped the bakery.</p><p>Félix snorted.</p><p>Chat Noir moved to one of the displays and picked up a slice of strawberry cheesecake. "Could I get some whipped cream on this?" he asked Marinette casually, staying between the stiffly wary Félix and the door.</p><p>Instantly suspicious, Marinette fetched the whipped cream. "Say when."</p><p>"When," said Chat Noir once there was more whipped cream in his hand than there was cheesecake. Marinette backed off; Chat Noir pivoted to slam the whole thing in Félix's face.</p><p>"<em>What</em> the—" Félix began. Chat Noir interrupted him, cream-covered hand gesturing first <i>stop</i>, then with a flourish toward the bakery door, <i>get out</i>.</p><p>A cream-and-white glob with a bit of pink-laced graham crust attached slid down Félix's cheek to the floor. Marinette giggled.</p><p>Félix got out.</p><p>Chat Noir ducked into the back and turned on the sink faucet. "Sorry about that," he said over the sound of the water on his gloves, adding in a mutter "Waste of perfectly good cheesecake."</p><p>"I'm sure it'll come out of the shirt," Marinette assured him, smiling. "There shouldn't be any damage at all." She paused. "I hope. I don't know if this was the first stop on the Impersonate Adrien Agreste Express."</p><p>Soaping up both gloves, Chat Noir shrugged. "It probably was. Unless we count anyone in his uncle's house. He's not that good at it anymore."</p><p>"Ugh, <em>tell</em> me about it."</p><p>"Why? You seemed to have him figured. And your reputation with the family isn't even dented any."</p><p>Marinette rolled her eyes. "Did you want anything else?"</p><p>"Cheesecake," he said at once. "This one's actually for eating, I promise. Something tells me my lady's going to be in a mood later." He glanced sideways at her, turning off the water. "So when you said no passionfruit macarons for sale…"</p><p>"There's a dozen upstairs for my boyfriend." Two slices of plain cheesecake, Marinette figured, one with chocolate, and one with—given what was still out for sale—raspberry. "None for alley cats, no matter how cute they—eep!"</p><p><em>How</em> did he keep <em>startling</em> her?</p><p>"Oh," said Chat Noir with a wicked grin, "you think I'm cute?"</p><p>Marinette pushed him away with a finger to the breastbone, her heart racing. "Knock it off, fuzzball. I'm working." Back to her stool behind the counter it was: he <em>would</em> insist on paying, which meant she had to ring him up, and her physics homework, unfortunately, did still need to get done.</p><p>When handing over the cash, Chat Noir caught her hand, tracing one claw tip over the heart line of her palm. She stared at him, breathless, till the door jingled closed behind him and his boxful of cheesecake.</p><p>—The euro notes totaled at least three times the actual price of five cheesecake slices, damn him. Yes, he knew it cost money to restock the various esoterica Master Fù had kept around. Yes, he probably knew that was the other reason she was even working today. <em>Yes</em>, this was still cheating! And yes, that thump from upstairs had a distinct whiff of macaron-thieving cat-boy, and never mind that now Marinette would have to make Adrien a dozen <em>more</em> macarons in order to be seen to pay up the silly bet she'd lost on Thursday…</p><p>Oh well. She'd get him back later.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/%E5%80%89%E9%BC%A0">cāngshǔ</a>: hamster<br/><a href="https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/%E6%8E%A5%E9%AA%A8%E6%9C%A8">jiēgǔmù</a>: elderberry<br/><i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chu_Ci">Chǔcí</a></i>: classical Chinese poetry</p><p>Find me on <a href="https://alexseanchai.dreamwidth.org/">Dreamwidth</a> and <a href="https://alexseanchai.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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